Maria Lopez moved out from behind the defendant's table ind into the well. "Surely that's not so, Professor Poe. Oh, I grant you that some actions are so ingrained as to become instinctive, but listening to a traffic report, and making a decision based on it — surely that requires consciousness, no?"

"I disagree — and I think you will, too, ma'am, if you consider it for a moment." He spread his arms, taking us all in. "Doubtless everyone in this court has had this experience: you're reading a novel, and at some point you realize you have no idea what was said in the last page. Why? Because your conscious attention had wandered off to consider something else. But there's no doubt that you have read the page that you have no awareness of; indeed, you've quite ikely tapped the page-down key on your datapad while reading it. Your eyes tracked across dozens or hundreds of words of text, even though you weren't consciously taking them in.

"Well, then who was doing the reading? The zombie you! Fortunately, zombies have no feelings, so when the conscious you realizes that it has missed out on a page or more of text, you say, wait, wait, go back, and you re-read the material the zombie has already read.

"The zombie is content to redo this, since it never gets bored — boredom is a conscious state. And then the two of you — conscious you and zombie you — go on reading new material together in unison. But the zombie is actually in the foreground; the conscious you is in the background. It's as if the conscious you is looking over the zombie's shoulder, following along as the zombie reads."

"Any other examples?" asked Lopez, now leaning her bottom against the defendant's table.

Poe nodded. "Certainly. Has this ever happened to you? You're lying in bed asleep and the phone rings." He pantomimed lifting an old-fashioned handset. "You answer it, have a conversation, and then, once it's over, you have no idea at all what you've said. Or your spouse says to you that you chatted about something late at night, when you both were supposedly awake, but come the morning you have no recollection of it. This happens all the time. If the conscious you doesn't answer your phone or reply when spoken to, the zombie you gets on with the job."

"Surely it's only capable of the most mechanical responses, though?" said Lopez.

Poe shook his head, and shifted again in his seat. "Not at all. In fact, the zombie is responsible for most of what we say. How could it be otherwise? You might start a sentence that will end up being twenty or thirty words long. Do you really believe that you have thought out that whole sentence in your brain before you start speaking it? Stop for a moment right now, and think this thought: 'On the way home from court today, I'd better pick up some bread and milk.' It took a measurable time for you to think that, and yet we can talk nonstop for extended periods without pauses to work out the thoughts we want to express. No, in most speech we discover what it is that we're going to say as it is said — just as those listening to us do."

Poe looked over at the jurors, then back at Lopez. "Have you ever been surprised by what you said? Of course — but that would be impossible if you knew in advance what you were going to say. And, in fact, whatever validity talk therapy has is based on this principle: your therapist forces you listen attentively to the words your zombie is spewing out. and, at some point you exclaim, 'My God! So that's what really going on in my head!"

"Yes, okay, maybe," said Lopez. She played the devil's advocate well. "But talking is simple enough — as is driving a car — until something goes wrong. Then, surely, your consciousness takes over — takes the driver's seat so to speak."

"No, not at all," said Poe. "In fact, it would be disastrous if it did so. Consider another example: playing tennis." He imitated a man swinging a racquet. "Tennis is one-hundred percent a spectator sport, from consciousness's point of view. The balls lob back and forth too fast for conscious processing of their trajectory, speed, and so on.

"In fact, here's a trick. If you want to beat an old pro at tennis, do this: let him whip your butt in a practice match, then compliment him on his technique. Ask him to show you exactly what he's doing that's better than what you're doing; get him to articulate the process, and demonstrate it in slow motion. Then challenge him to a rematch. His consciousness will still be dwelling on how tennis is played, on what you're supposed to be doing — and that will interfere with his zombie. Only when his consciousness retreats to the sidelines, and the zombie starts playing the game on its own, will he be back at top form again."

Poe spread his arms as if all this were obvious. "Same thing with driving. If you're about to hit another car, you can't stop to think about pumping the brakes, or how to turn to avoid fishtailing, or whatever. Consciousness will get you killed; you have to leave it to your zombie to react without the delays caused by conscious thought."

"But can't you take this all one silly step further, Professor Poe?" said Lopez, looking not at him, but at the jurors as if she were speaking on their behalf. "I mean, I know I'm conscious; I know I'm not a zombie. But, if we believe what you're saying, you could be a zombie, just going through the motions of giving expert testimony without any real awareness. Doesn't this all devolve to solipsism — the position that I am the only one who really exists?"

Poe nodded. "Up until a year or two ago, I would have agreed with you. Solipsism is arrogance writ large, and there's no rational basis for believing that you, Maria Lopez, are the chosen one, the only real, conscious human being who has ever existed. But Immortex has changed that." He held up a pair of fingers. "Now there are two kinds of actors on the stage. One kind are humans, who evolved from a long line of hominids and primates and earlier mammals and mammal-like reptiles and amphibians and fishes, and on and on back to the first single-celled organisms — things very much like the paramecia Dr. Porter talked about.

"And the other is what Immortex calls a Mindscan, an up-loaded consciousness. A reasonable person can, by extrapolation from his own inner life, recognize that others are conscious, too — or, more precisely, that others have a conscious rider in their zombie bodies. But as far as I'm concerned, all Immortex has demonstrated is that they can recreate the zombie part; there is zero evidence before this court that the consciousness that once dwelt in the biological Karen Bessarian has been duplicated. Yes, the lights are on in that — that thing sitting there — but there is no reason at all to think that anyone is at home. The fact that Mindscans don't dream is damning proof that this is true."

Poe looked into the seating gallery, past me to where Dr. Porter was, and pointed an accusing ringer. "Indeed, Andrew Porter himself said he doesn't know what consciousness is, and that song-and-dance he gave about microtubules is just obfuscation. Whatever consciousness really is, there's no positive evidence that it's being transferred in the Mindscan process." Poe crossed his arms in front of his chest. "The burden is entirely on Immortex to prove that they have transferred it, and, as I say, there's zero evidence that that is in fact the case."